


Prosopagnosia

by cywscross



Series: TW Soulmates AUs [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Drabble, M/M, Prompt Fill, Prosopagnosia, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-02
Updated: 2015-05-02
Packaged: 2018-03-28 18:24:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3865099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cywscross/pseuds/cywscross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>Prosopagnosia (prŏs′ə-păg-nō′zhə, -zē-ə) <em>n.</em> – </strong>An inability or difficulty in recognizing familiar faces; it may be congenital or result from injury or disease of the brain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prosopagnosia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [driedupnib](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=driedupnib).



> driedupnib asked: I wish you would write a fic with the soulmark trope of ‘first thing your soulmate says to you’ for steter, where stiles has face blindness, and peter just sorta resays his line to him every time they see each other. and that’s the thing that stiles uses to identify peter with. Of course stiles says his lines back.

 

Stiles has phrases to identify his dad and Scott too, but he’s been worried about meeting his soulmate since forever. After all, what soulmate would want a significant other who can’t even recognize them?

 

But then werewolves become a thing, and the crazy bloodthirsty Alpha with a chip on his shoulder the size of Russia says “You must be Stiles.”, the exact same words on Stiles’ wrist, and suddenly, it becomes ten times more worrying that he can’t identify his soulmate, because if he can’t identify his soulmate, he also can’t identify the  _serial killer on a murderous rampage_  with the nice voice and the unfairly sane mask he can wear when it suits him despite the fact that he’s really very  _not-_ sane underneath.

 

Lucky for him, Peter has a very distinctive (read: creepy) way of talking to teenagers in general, plus he’s always wearing that coat of his, so whenever Stiles knows that Peter’s in the vicinity, he always shuts his mouth and never says a word, or at the very least, he doesn’t talk directly to Peter because who knows what bad things would happen (read: kidnapping/murderous obsession/etc) if Peter  _finds out_  that Stiles is his soulmate.

 

Skip ahead to Peter’s death (and something in Stiles still feels a bit hollow, a bit broken, a bit lost, after that fateful night) and then his rise from the dead, and Stiles still hasn’t said a single word to the dude, not even in that parking lot where Stiles answered all of Peter’s questions with headshakes or nods or grudging obedience (he sent a very strong sardonic look at the man after he showed Peter Scott’s username and password; Peter’s eyeroll in response was legendary). Stiles honestly doesn’t talk much to Derek either for all that he’s saved the stupid Alpha so many times, but he recognizes Lydia after years of that distinctly red hair colour, and Isaac’s the one with the scarf, and Scott is Scott. Derek’s usually the one shoving Stiles around and he’s always wearing that leather jacket of his so it’s pretty easy to recognize him too. Peter – thankfully – starts strutting around in those v-necks all the time so mostly Stiles just has to look at the shirt and know when to shut up. And it’s not that he’s completely  _against_  the idea of having Peter as a soulmate – the guy is witty and snarky and intelligent and just as much of an asshole as Stiles can be, and in a perfect world (ie. Peter  _didn’t_  have a past as a mass murderer), Stiles would wonder why the universe thought he deserved such an amazing guy. But it isn’t a perfect world, and the combination of not knowing whether or not he could trust Peter as well as the whole face blindness thing keeps Stiles quiet, and the longer it drags on, the harder it is to say anything.

 

For someone so observant though, it was only ever a matter of time before Peter realized that Stiles talks to practically everybody except him. And Peter is smart and can connect the dots, and it’s not like Stiles doesn’t  _answer_  him so long as he asks yes or no questions, otherwise he’d deflect and get someone else to answer. And it doesn’t take a genius to observe Stiles’ personality – all sass and cleverness and subtle cunning and a ruthless sort of loyalty that Peter is one hundred percent on board with – to realize how well Stiles matches him despite the fact that they’ve never shared a single word between them.

 

So he suspects  _soulmate_ , and it hurts on some level that Stiles would reject him like this. Their first encounter wasn’t exactly what one would call entirely friendly, but of all the people Peter went after, Stiles was the only one he  _didn’t_ hurt, the only one he let go when the boy pulled away from his offer of the Bite, the only one he  _offered_  it to because he didn’t need words to recognize a kindred soul, to recognize that if he  _took_  without permission, Stiles would see him dead one way or another. Stiles  _did_  see him dead, for his part in hurting Scott, and that’s the sort of devotion Peter will always appreciate. Is it any wonder that he wants that devotion for himself?

 

So he decides to try. He’s mostly convinced that Stiles is his soulmate, and sometimes, when he snarks at Derek or taunts the Pack, he also catches Stiles smiling at him like he wants to jump in with his own banter, so Stiles can’t  _completely_ hate him, right?

 

So he picks a night to corner Stiles in his bedroom, expertly jiggling open Stiles’ locked window and climbing inside, and it’s no real surprise that Stiles is still awake and pouring over research under the dim light of his desk lamp, except before Peter can say a word, he finds a baseball bat levelled at him, and Stiles is demanding, “You have five seconds to tell me what you want before I redecorate my wall with your carcass.”

 

Because the thing is, Peter is wearing one of his v-necks but he’s also taken to wearing a coat lately because of the chilly weather, and that’s really all Stiles can see, along with dark hair and jeans. Scott has their signature three-tap-two-tap knock except this guy didn’t knock, and Derek  _usually_ knocks once, heavy and impatient, and even when he doesn’t he always barks out “Stiles!” first thing before launching into growly questions about what Stiles has managed to find out about the latest big bad, and this guy hasn’t done any of that either. Nobody else climbs in through his window this late at night, and considering the death trap that Beacon Hills has become lately, it’s only logical for Stiles to go for his nearest weapon first.

 

Peter has no idea what’s going on. This level of hostility seems rather odd, especially coupled with the tense anxiety and confusion that he can smell from Stiles, as if they boy is facing off against some unknown enemy. At the same time though, he’s also thrilled because that threat Stiles just spewed? It’s the exact same one printed over his left shoulder blade, the words that Peter has always found somewhat charming, if only because it shows that his soulmate is anything  _but_  intimidated or awed by him, and all the people Peter has ever interacted with had always been one or the other at some point or another because they couldn’t handle Peter’s natural inclination towards manipulation. That  _Stiles_ would be the one to say them makes it all the better.

 

But he has to resolve this situation first, and he ends up sniping back, “That seems a bit drastic for a simple late-night visit, don’t you think, Stiles? You could hurt my feelings talking to me like that.”

 

And there’s no way Stiles can’t recognize that voice, that tone, that level of snark, and before he can stop himself ( _it’s too late anyway_ ), his bat wavers and he blurts out uncertainly, “Peter?”

 

And Peter definitely knows something’s up because Stiles honestly sounds like he isn’t sure who’s standing in front of him, and that’s cause for some concern.

 

So the jig is up, and after a round of pointless deflection that doesn’t distract Peter whatsoever, Stiles eventually confesses to his condition, and he’s off on a spiel on everything he knows about prosopagnosia before Peter can get a word in edgewise, and for a while, Peter just listens to the nervous babble even though he knows the gist of what face blindness is. He thinks this is something Stiles needs to get off his chest, and at the same time, he’s also secretly relieved that it isn’t because Stiles hates him that the boy hasn’t spoken to him at all. The lack of trust – Peter can overcome; he’s nothing if not persistent when he wants something, and he wants Stiles. Getting hung up on the face blindness is just silly.

 

By the time Stiles has run out of breath and is squinting at Peter instead like he’s trying – in vain – to memorize Peter’s face for next time, Peter just rolls his eyes, tugs Stiles close by the wrist, runs a possessive thumb over the words on the skin there, and then tells Stiles to meet him at Carly’s Diner for lunch tomorrow (they make illegally good curly fries, as Stiles has claimed more than once). After that, Peter drops a kiss on Stiles’ wrist and has escaped out the window before Stiles manages to scramble back enough brain cells to do more than squawk a protest.

 

Stiles swears he won’t go, but the next day, he tears his closet apart for something nice but casual and not-trying-too-hard, and then his feet is taking him to the diner, all without his consent, damn it. He doesn’t know how this is going to work; Peter should know by now that he can’t really pick him out of a crowd.

 

But then he gets there, and somebody taps him on the shoulder, and Stiles hates it when somebody does that because he can never be sure if it’s a stranger or someone he knows but isn’t close to.

 

But then the person says, “You must be Stiles,” and only Peter Hale knows to say that, those same words that the werewolf once said to him at the hospital when they first met, and that’s-

 

“That’s gonna get old fast,” Stiles ends up croaking out, and for a second, his throat gets tight for no explainable reason. “You gonna sound like we’re always meeting for the first time every time we see each other?”

 

“Well,” Peter smirks, and Stiles doesn’t shake him off when the man rests a possessive hand against the small of his back as he escorts Stiles into the diner. “Only until you agree to be my mate. Then we’ll always be able to sense each other.”

 

Stiles huffs indignantly but he has to fight down a blush too because he’s read up about mates (the moment he found out that Peter was his  _and_  a werewolf actually, not that he’d ever admit it). “Aren’t you a presumptuous bastard?”

 

“No, just a confident one,” Peter purrs back.  “Don’t worry, Stiles; I’ll court you properly, and you’ll enjoy every second of it. I guarantee it.”

 

The very worst thing is – he’s right.

 

**Author's Note:**

> **Please leave a review on your way out.**


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